


Lost and Found

by diablo77



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Dean and Crowley are only mentioned and do not appear, F/M, Hell, Joking reference to demon possession, Meg Masters in a Wheelchair, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Semi-Canon Compliant, brief nudity, established megstiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26604055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diablo77/pseuds/diablo77
Summary: Newly back from the Empty, Meg needs to retrieve a lost possession from Hell. Castiel accompanies her on the mission, where they're met with an unexpected surprise.
Relationships: Castiel/Meg Masters, Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22
Collections: Het Swap Exchange 2020





	Lost and Found

Hell is surprisingly easy to get into, depending on who’s trying. It’s easy enough for demons as long as they’re not on any celestial shit-lists. Even easier for humans as long as they have a flaw that can be exploited or a weakness that can be corrupted, leaving their soul ripe for the taking. You’d think it would be hard for an angel to get in, though. You’d be wrong. Despite their power and the potential for righteous violence, the demons in charge of warding the gates let a few key sigils “accidentally” rub off years ago so they can slip in. Demons get bored sometimes. They enjoy a challenge.

The angel passing through the gates now has a demon’s fury focused on him already, as it happens, but not because he’s trespassing.

“Dammit, Clarence, we’re on my turf now,” Meg complains, swatting Castiel’s hand away from the push handle of her wheelchair. “Let me lead the way!”

“Meg, I don’t want you to get hurt,” Castiel says firmly from behind her, but he leaves his hands off of the handles. Meg grips her own wheels and rolls herself forward down the dimly lit corridor. The angel quickens his pace to keep up with her, his shuffling footsteps echoing against the dank stone walls.

Meg sighs, pulling back on her wheels to spin herself around to face Castiel. Her chin is sharply set when their eyes meet, but her eyes are soft. “I can handle myself,” she says. “I promise. I’m a big girl.”

“I just worry about you,” he says. “Ever since…”

“Ever since you pulled me out of the Empty and my meatsuit glitched on its way back through the Matrix,” she says, glancing down at her legs. “I get it. But I’m still the same nasty little demon you went and got your halo twisted for. I don’t want you to treat me like I’m fragile.”

Castiel nods. “Because it hurts your feelings?”

“ _No_ , because I could still kick your ass, but I don’t want to.” She smirks, raising one eyebrow. “At least, not until later.” Castiel looks down, a flush of red creeping up the back of his neck. Meg flushes herself with satisfaction that she can still have this effect on him. Truthfully, she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings either, and she finds his protectiveness of her almost sweet. But she does have a reputation to uphold. “Anyway,” she says as they move on, “I thought you said the new boss was a friend of yours?”

“She is… kind of. But it’s not her I’m worried about.” Castiel darts his eyes around.

“She?” Meg can’t hide the impressed note in her voice. “Well, _she_ had better keep a good handle on her underlings, if she’s gonna rule this place.”

“She does, most of the time.”

“But…?”

“But sometimes she’s… busy.” They’ve reached the heavy wooden door leading to the royal chambers. Castiel raises a hand and knocks once, then again. “Rowena?” he calls, leaning his forehead against the darkly polished wood.

The door is thick. Castiel’s angelic strength makes his fist pound against it hard enough for the wood to vibrate, but the sounds behind it remain muffled. Still, Meg could swear she hears the faint, distant sound of something banging around, and then a few moments later, a crash. There’s definitely a crash.

Castiel turns back to face Meg. “I don’t think she heard me,” he says.

“Did you try the door?” Meg asks.

“Try the…” A deep furrow grows between Castiel’s brows. As he puzzles over what she’s said, Meg nudges him aside and lifts the latch on the door. It moves easily, the door swinging open. From inside the chamber, there’s the sound of another crash, and then a startled scream.

Inside, a tiny red-haired woman clutches what seems to be her own cast-off dress to her chest. “Castiel!” she gasps. “Don’t you knock?”

“I did knock,” Castiel replies.

Meg grins at the source of, at least, the most recent crash: the collapsed shelf against the wall and the tall, muscular man who apparently jumped back and collided with it when the door opened. “I haven’t seen this much of you since I was inside you,” she says, earning an exasperated shake of his head and another confused squint from Castiel.

“Cover yourself, Samuel,” says the woman who must be Rowena, the new Queen of Hell, tossing Sam Winchester’s crumpled jeans and flannel shirt smoothly in his direction. Sam catches them and shrugs them on while Rowena straightens the dress that she’s somehow managed to slip into without any of them noticing. She pats her bright curls into place as she settles into the throne.

“You’re not gonna tell Dean, are you?” Sam asks Castiel.

“Why would I do that?”

Sam smiles. “Thanks, buddy.”

Castiel nods and looks down at Meg. “This is Rowena MacLeod, Queen of Hell,” he says, gesturing toward her. To Rowena, he says, “This is Meg. She’s–” he stares at her for a moment. “A friend,” he finishes, a bit awkwardly.

Meg rolls forward. “You’re not a demon,” she says.

“A witch,” Rowena responds. “At least, I used to be.” She raises her chin, eyeing Castiel sharply. “You still haven’t told us what brings you here,” she says to him. “You know, down here they hunt your kind for sport.”

“She’s joking,” Sam says.

“I’m not,” Rowena snaps back, but she’s smiling.

“Let me handle this, Clarence,” says Meg, patting Castiel on the sleeve. “I’m looking for something of mine,” she says. “I have reason to believe it’s here.”

“And what is that? More importantly, what reason is that?”

“An amulet,” Meg says. “And I _reason_ that even if Crowley didn’t know what it was, he still probably took it just to spite me.” Meg could almost swear she sees Rowena stiffen at the mention of Crowley’s name, but there’s a barely perceptible head-shake from Sam and she composes herself so perfectly it all seems like she might have imagined it.

“Well, you know, he lost his power here before he died,” Rowena says. “There was a coup. Lucifer–” she swallows and shakes her head. “Anyway, there might still be some of his things in a box somewhere…” she turns away quickly. It looks for a second like she might be swiping at the corner of her eye, but the movement quickly turns into a fluid toss of her hair. She turns back around a moment later, holding a stone box with sigils etched into the sides. When she holds it, they glow.

Meg wheels herself closer and peers into the box. “It’s here,” she says softly, reaching in and lifting out a delicate necklace of charms. Her neck has felt so naked without it ever since she’s been back.

“An amulet,” Sam says. “Like the one I gave Dean? That glows hot in the presence of God?”

“Hell no,” Meg says, tying the cord back around her neck. “This one does the opposite. You think I want God to be able to find me? How do you think I got away with as much as I did?”

“You mean…” Castiel stares, realization spreading across his face. “Chuck didn’t write you to act the way you did with me,” he says.

“Are you kidding? Back in those days he was _so_ into the angels-versus-demons, dark-versus-light crap. He _never_ would have allowed it if he could have seen what I was doing.”

“So that was…”  
“That was all me, baby.” Meg looks back into the box and gasps at the glint of an angel blade. Almost involuntarily, her hand jerks toward it. She feels a searing spread across her hand before she’s even touched it.

“You’ve got a connection to that blade,” Rowena says.

“You could say that.” Meg remembers the feeling of the blade entering her throat that night, just before a bright flash obliterated it along with everything else. She shakes her hand and tries again. It still stings a little, but this time she’s able to wrap her hand around the hilt. “I want it,” she says. “Can I have it?”

Rowena pauses for a moment, then nods. “It’s yours.”

“Why do you want that?” Castiel asks. He wasn’t there that night. But he knows what happened. Sam and Dean finally told him most of it, and Meg filled him in on the rest. She can see the worry in his face.

She feels the memories unwinding backwards from what he knows. How Crowley stole the blade from her when she was his prisoner, the blade _she_ rightfully stole years earlier. In her hand, she feels the sensations of the blade shift as the memory slides back to the night she first grabbed hold of it, tucked inside Castiel’s coat as his lips pressed against hers for the first time, but definitely not the last. The searing heat of the blade melts into a comforting warmth, the kind that makes Meg feel slightly embarrassed, as if everyone can see. She slides the blade into her belt and rolls back to him, ready to lead him back out of Hell – just like, in a way, he did for her once.

“Let’s just say it’s a good memory,” she says.


End file.
